Snow Drift
by DreamEscape16
Summary: While the Howling Commando's chase HYDRA across the snowy planes of Europe , Bucky and Steve have a snowball fight which helps them remember the importance of friendship when they're on the battlefield. CA:FA one shot.


**Snow Drift**

**All characters belong to Marvel Comics**

**I own nothing.**

* * *

It had grown to become a harsh and unforgiving winter, gritting and cursing a mockery of German tongue under his breath, cocky and defiant Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes stood rigidly on the edge of the cliff, his short dark brown hair which he wore slicked back during his assigned SSR missions had become windswept, and messy tendrils fell over his broad forehead and hooded over his pensive and firm eyes. The mixture of blue of his irises had changed into a intense, icy color of a December sky as the frozen, desolated landscape became entrapped in his intent stare. Shifting his slender body slight, his heavy laced boots crunched over the fresh layers of snow—he looked passively over the desolated area of the mountain, scanning absently over clusters of snow drifts, rock formations, and frozen veins of rivers from his vantage point.

The sound of encroaching footsteps jarred his attention, he turned around languidly, his muscles tensed underneath the heavy navy blue winter coat, and he glanced over his broad shoulder, parting his full lips, and drew out a crystallized breath. He slowly eased the strapped of his Springfield rifle off his right shoulder, and mentally calculated, before resting his steady gloved hand on the steel trigger. He stifled his chilled lips into straight line, kept his eyes alert, waited for a couple of seconds, and then twisted and aimed the barrel of the gun directly at the dark figure advancing closer to his position as he easily recognized the severe black jacket with the silver insignia of a skull with tentacles etched on the shoulders—the distinctive mark of HYDRA, the inhumane science division of Nazi Germany.

"Stay the hell back!" Bucky hollered out a warning from his vigil, shifting his infuriated blue eyes at the high points above him—he caught a glimpse of a light blue with spangled strips uniform and a silver star hidden within the thickening snow squalls.

Reacting quickly without any hesitation, Bucky yanked on the trigger of his sleek rifle and took down the HYDRA troop lifting his goggled face up at the snowy ledge, he raised his ray gun and prepared to fire at the young short golden haired soldier crouched to his knees with a gleaming shield strapped to his back, Captain Steven Grant Rogers. The man instantly fell to the ground, and dark maroon leaked out of the bullet hole lodged in his head. Steve straightened to his boots, and gave a curt of a thankful nod.

"Don't worry, punk," Bucky whispered out a faint breath, sliding his rifle strap over his arm. "I've always got your back." He climbed the rocky ledge; his chest rubbed over the sharp, jagged rocks as Steve extended out his hand, and hoisted him up. "I think your uniform acts like a bull's eye to these bastards." He breathlessly said, wincing as the biting wind lasted over his chiseled, numb features. Steve gave him a snug grin in return. "You might want to look into changing the colors of your wardrobe. Not just to save your ass, but mine as well." He smirked broadly, with his rich Brooklyn drawl, and then dusted off his jacket. "The further we cross enemy lines…the more Captain America becomes the prime target. Whatever weapons they're using to level the towns-I've seen what they can do to men, Steve," he revealed with a grim expression shrouding over his youthful face. "They hit the front lines without warning, fired the same blue rays and turned men into piles of ash. Nothing was left—not even their dog tags."

"So you're saying that unless I want to end up cremated before the war ends…I should blend in with my surroundings. Get rid of the stars and stripes." Steve replied back, his voice sheepish, but his deep cobalt eyes firm as he stared at his best friend.

Bucky shook his head, "No Steve." He grounded out, using his protective tone. "I want you to look out for yourself. HYDRA wants you—hell they want a piece of you. They will hunt and try to kill you because well…let's face it your Captain America, the hero poster boy for the American forces. They destroy you-and they destroy us as well."

Steve clenched his jaw, "I'm the one who takes all the shots. I can handle what HYDRA throws at me, Bucky…"

"Right." Bucky nodded, his voice became laced with sourness. "Because you're invincible super soldier—the dumb kid who is too stubborn enough to walk away from a fight?" He shot back tersely, narrowing his eyes down. "This isn't a game anymore, Steve. You will get wounded if you don't pull your head out of your ass, and stop taking risks."

"Aren't you forgetting...? I was the one who saved your ass from Zola's compound?" Steve growled, and his anger mounted. "I can handle this Bucky." He glared at the dark haired soldier, with cold blue embers of fury. "You're afraid that I'll get wounded …that I'll become sick and too weak to fight back again…."

Harrowing dread intertwined through Bucky's veins. "Is that what you think, Steve?' he lamely said, huffing out a breath. "I'm afraid that I'm going to lose my best friend-I can't watch you die, Steve. I know you think I'm strong, but hell, I'm not strong enough to let you go." He gritted, out his confession, biting his tongue-he hated being all sentimental –but it was also the truth. "I spent years cleaning up your bloody noses, patching you up and listening to you wheeze. I will be damned if these German bastards take you from me—I can't watch you die, punk." He twisted around, and hung his head; smoldering, pained tears welled inside his eyes. He fought against a constricting lump in his throat, almost choking up his words. "If you are ever in the moment of crossfire…I will gladly take the bullet for you, pal," He said, lifting his head defiantly. "The world needs Captain America more than a jerk from Brooklyn."

"Hey," Steve said in nothing more than a strained whisper. He placed his large hand on Bucky's tensed shoulder as he involuntary squeezed. "The world needs Bucky Barnes too."

Bucky gave a grunt of a dismissive chuckle ghosting over his benumbed lips. "Yeah, well.." he returned with a sheepish tone. "No one's going to care about me after the war…I'm stuck on the sidelines. You're always going to stay on home plate with some beautiful dames cheering you on after another home victory."

"You're never going to be standing in the sidelines, Buck," Steve said softly, and he looked dead on into his lifelong friend's blue eyes. "You're always going to be right there next to me. I'll make sure everyone knows that Bucky Barnes was the one who saved Captain America and Steven Rogers from the snow covered battlefields of France and Norway, and the alleys of Brooklyn. Without Bucky Barnes by his side watching his back, there would be no Captain America."

Hearing those words reach his ears, Bucky curved his chilled lips into a ghost of a smile. "Do you always have to a kill joy, Rogers? I was trying not to cry," he quickly in vain, wiped the tears off his frozen cheeks. "…but you kind of ruin the moment for me, pal," he said with a cocky, and honest grin.

Steve mirrored a smile. "They will also know how much of big softie you can be…."

"Hell, no." Bucky protested, and cleared his tears away. He lowered down, his boots crunched over the frozen ground, and he gathered snow with his hand formed into a cup, and made it into a ball. "Tell me, Cap?" he smirked, with a mischievous twinkle in his blue eyes. "Do you prefer softball or hardball?" he asked.

Steve cocked one eyebrow up, and noticed the snowball in his hand. "Bucky" he breathed out a frosty breath, withstanding a step back.»I thought you said this is war…We have no time for games."

Bucky shook his head, "Oh, this isn't a game, Rogers. It's target practice." He padded the snow with his gloved hand. "You need all the practice you can get." he darted his eyes at the golden haired soldier, and gave Steve a devilish smirk, before narrowing his gaze on the alloy shield. "No shield. You play by my rules…The shield isn't what saves you…feelings in your gut, and knowing when to duck. That's what keeps your frozen ass from getting thrown six feet under." he discharged.

"I never enter crossfire without my shield, Buck." Steve shot back resolutely, his blue eyes gleaming with hardened defiance. He stiffened his lips into an unbreakable line.

Rolling his eyes with irritation, Bucky withheld his intense stare on Rogers. "It's no difference than a stupid trash can lid in some alley." he digressed, fingers absently stroked over the snowball. "It's not going to stop everything..." he told Steve harshly, becoming unnerved.

Steve stared at him, completely silent from words. He opened his mouth to argue. Instead he had bitten his tongue. "One day you will find out that my shield is more than a damn trash can lid."

Bucky mustered up a smile, unable to keep a serious face. "You're pathetic you know that?"

'I'm serious, Buck." Steve breathed, with a firm stare. He knocked his fingers on the shield. "Look how many more lives I saved?"

Bucky snapped his eyes down at the shield. "You saved." he pointedly stated, gesturing to Steve's chest, he dejected out a sigh."You saved all of those POW's. Not the damn shield." He withdrew a step back. "It's only a weapon that you've wield. It doesn't define you. Don't forget that, Steve." He dropped the packed ball of snow down, and turned to walk away from his best friend.

Steve narrowed his head, and looked at the snow reaching his leather boots. He smiled lightly, and scooped up enough snow, waited for the right moment, "Hey, Buck?" he called out.

Bucky snapped out of his thoughts, paused in his fervent strides, turned around, and before he could answer, Steve bombarded him with a snowball in the face. "Rogers!" he growled, feeling the snow drip through the layers of his clothing and create a trial of ice water over his stomach. "You'd better run, punk..." he warned, bending to his knees as he packed snow, "I'm going to knock that helmet of yours clean off."

"I like to see you try?" Steve taunted, jumping up a rocky edge, and whipped another ball at Bucky. "Come on, hit with your best shot, Barnes."

Laughing Bucky lifted his blue eyes at Steve, "Oh, you asked for it." He used his left arm, and threw a ball, right into Steve's silver star, while calling out. "On your left, Rogers."

Steve smirked, "On your right Barnes," he aimed a big snowball at Bucky, hitting his friend's right ear.

They felt like kids again, playing in the snow, without a care in the world. The haze of war left them, as a cherished memory stayed forever in their minds.

Bucky smiled up at Steve, and yelled out, "Come on, Captain America, try to make me yield." he dared.

Steve dropped from his perch, and moved closer to Bucky, "Thank you, Buck?"

"For what?" Bucky asked, cocking up an eyebrow.

"Thank you for helping me remember that I'm still a kid from Brooklyn." He confessed out, his blue eyes honest. " ...and that a friend is sometimes the only shield you need to fight the bullies."

Smirking cockily, Bucky returned, and rammed snow down Steve's neck, chucking at his friend's infuriated reaction. 'Don't mention it, Cap."


End file.
